I found myself tired and hiding as I sat in my car exhausted after just having clocked-out of work when these words of a song slowly washed over my spirit:
"Let me never lose my wonder
Wide-eyed and mystified
Let me be just like a child
Staring at the beauty of my King"
My wonder. My heart had long since closed to this childlike part of me that lived and breathed with self wide-open to the possibility of impossibilities. I knew I’d lost it. My entire relationship with the Lord of Creation had whittled down to half-hearted breath prayers. Between pursuing life and living it, I had somehow snuffed the passion that used to wisp and pop inside of my spirit like an ever-burning torch.
As I let my seat back and settled in to watch the sky play with its evening colors, I tried to remember what it felt like to approach the King blushing like a well-loved child, with hands wide open and a raw spirit. I used to believe that he could do whatever he said he wanted to. I used to believe in his promise. Perhaps it was while believing the lies of self-reliance that I had started to curate the bricks and to mix the mortar that would build the walls around me. Perhaps it was believing the lies of fear that caused me to self-preserve the parts of me that used to remember to love the taste of air.
No wonder my eyes were closed to wonder. With closed eyes, I had built for myself an ugly brick house. I had locked myself inside of it.
As I sat in my car hiding, the Lord wanted to remind me that there is still beauty to find through shattered windshields and half-opened eyes. Through migraines and twisted spines, through broken communication and backs-turned, there is still beauty to find.
And when beauty is found
It changes things.
It causes the insides of me to halt
To observe truth
It curls like mist
Into the vertebrae
It makes space
Straightens the spine
It ignites my spirit
When beauty is found, it shatters the walls around my lungs. Beauty leaves me with a desperate wonder. Wonder lets me find the Lord playing hide-and-seek through tangible metaphors: mountains, oak trees and coffee mugs.
And I delight to find him in this way because his beauty is truth, his truth is freedom, and his freedom is life.
So, I say to lies that hinder the finding,
give me back my wonder.